Behold the Serpent
by Mira Spiegel
Summary: This is a look at the crucifixtion through Satan's perspective. Please Read and Review.


Behold the Serpent

By: E. Brock

Despite the events that played out before me, I could not bring myself to believe that the time had come. The prophecies were going to be true. He had thwarted my every attempt to stop this event from happening and yet, here I stand, on Golgotha. I watch with the crowd, stricken with horror, though not the same horror as they, at the sound of metal striking metal. My own wrists twinge in pain as anguished cries reach my ears. This play is finally coming to a close.

The women from His ministry are wringing their hands and wailing. His mother stands silent, watching, detached almost. I feel a surge of hatred towards her. Why is she not screaming out at the injustice of her Son being crucified on a Roman cross when He has done nothing? Why is she silent? I _push_ her to say something, to speak out against the injustice of it all. I watch her mouth open slightly, as if to cry out but quickly she shuts it again. She knows this has to happen. She knows He came to do this. No wonder the Father chose her. Foul woman.

A thud brings me back to the scene. They've dropped the crosses into the ground. There He is, in all His glory. Bloodied, broken, and mocked. And yet He still remains on that cross, determined to fulfill to prophecies. My time is running out. I must act quickly in order to stop this farce from going any farther. Pushing my way through the crowd, I make myself appear as nothing more than a commoner. Not far way they are casting lots for His clothes. Another prophecy fulfilled. I pour my hatred and bitterness into words and hurl them at the broken Man before me.

"You, who are going to destroy the temple and rebuild it in three days, save Yourself! If You are the Son of God, come down from the cross!"

Like music to my ears and delight to my heart, I hear the crowd take up and repeat my challenge. Doubt is the greatest defeat. Those mockeries of the religious sect push their way into the front, jostling me against the other men and women but for once I do not care. I care only to see the heavens open and my fellow angels descend. As I watch the skies with mind numbing anticipation the religious leader's words rise around me like sweet savory scents.

"He saved others; He cannot save Himself. He is the King of Israel; let Him now come down from the cross, and we will believe in Him."

Brilliance. I never knew they had it in them. Utter, beautiful brilliance. Isn't that what you want, Jesus? Their belief. Here's your chance. Come down off the cross, show them Your power and they will believe. Once more I find my voice rising above the din of angry mocking tones.

"He trusts in God; let God rescue Him now, if He delights in Him for He said, "I am the Son of God."

Then the unexpected happens. That bruised, blood encrusted head turns slowly and those eyes find me in the crowd. I know I am triumphant in this moment. I know I am. But those eyes show no defeat. They show no weakness. They show…pity? How dare He! He is dying on a cross for filthy, rotten humans who would rather do this to Him than believe in His words. How dare He show _me_ pity!

"Where is Your Father now?" I whisper, knowing my words will reach His ears. He merely looks at me with those unchallenging eyes and in that moment I know how this will end. This is my last attempt, my last chance at victory.

"Call down Your angels to save you!" I bellow up at Him. I reach into the minds of the two men on the crosses beside His and hurl all the threats, mockeries and taunts out of their mouths. I try to convince His mother once again to beg for her Son's life but she has closed her mind to me. I feel my victory starting to slip through my fingers. But He is still alive. I still have some time.

I am the Star of the Morning. I have power too. I call on my own angels to take Him down from the cross. They look at me like I've gone mad. I order them once more and they start to move towards the cross, though more hesitantly than I would like. Just as they reach the base of the cross, darkness falls over everyone. My angels look to me for guidance.

But the darkness brings a fear that I can not explain. My angels refuse to touch the wood. And for once, they will not be punished for their disobedience. This darkness was in the prophecy as well. My time for victory was growing shorter. Then words reached my ears and hope springs eternal once more!

"Eli, Eli, Lama Sabachthani!"

Yes, yes! Why have You forsaken Your Son, Father? Hope had been drained from Him at last!

"This man is calling for Elijah!"

Wonderful, brilliant scholars, how I love every one of their misinterpretations. Bless them forever! It didn't matter anyway. All I needed was one last taunt and everylasting victory would be mine!

"Let us see whether Elijah will come to save Him!"

Those eyes found me once again. I met them will fiery defiance and haughty satisfaction. I had won, Jesus. Where's Gabriel? Where's Michael? I'll stand by their sides once again and relieve You of Your burden. But that bloodied, cracked face turned towards the heavens. With a great heave of the lacerated chest, He bellowed.

"It is finished!"

I could have sworn I felt myself die with Him. At least it was my victory that died. And my pride. The women's wailing reached my ears and I hated every single one of them, especially His mother. The apostles were there, those faithful men that I despised even more for their lack of outrage. I stood there in the darkness and looked up at the dead form of God's Son, sent to redeem mankind. I bit my tongue so hard I tasted blood. He had succeeded with no help from me. I tried to keep Him off that forsaken cross and all I got was unwavering insolence.

But there still was some hope left. He may have offered a chance at redemption through His blood, dying in the place of thankless humans for their multitude of sins, but not all of them would believe. I spit a mixture of saliva and blood onto the base of the cross and turned away from Him. It was finished, but it wasn't over.

Brushing against the people in the crowd I began whispering lies in their ears. I was not named the Father of Lies for no reason. I whispered in the ears of the religious leaders, politicians and peasants. Spreading doubt and dissension. Trying to undermine what was still to come. There was one last part of the prophecy and if I couldn't keep Him off the cross then I knew I couldn't keep Him in the grave.

"I hear His disciples are planning on stealing His body."

Doubt really is the greatest defeat of Him and His words.


End file.
